


Bly Manor

by sourgummyworms



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Inspired by Bly Manor, Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), The Force Is Weird (Star Wars), not a force ghost but still a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourgummyworms/pseuds/sourgummyworms
Summary: “Nobody calls me that anymore,” was the first thing he told her. She only frowned and walked closer to him.“What do they call you?”“CC-5052,” he answered numbly.“What a shame,” she hovered a hand over his pristine new armor but did not touch it. She finally rested her eyes on his helmet. It looked like she wanted to pull it off. If Bly was being honest, so did he. “I loved your name.”~Bly returns to Felucia some years after Order 66 and sees a ghost.
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	Bly Manor

**Author's Note:**

> I loved Bly Manor and I love Commander Bly and I LOVE blyla so really I had no choice but to write this.
> 
> Believe it or not this idea started as a Halloween comedy in the vein of Addams family but somehow changed into 2k words of angst... hope you enjoy anyways!

Felucia was a humid planet. Damp, when it was cold. The ground felt like walking on sponges made of decomposing foliage. Even without the man-eating beasts and poisonous plants it was a horrible place to be. It was hard to put to words, but Bly did not like Felucia.

Ignoring the complaints of the rest of his squad (made up of more recent recruits, they were not yet used to the everyday dirty work of the Empire), Bly marched to their destination. An old, run-down manor. At some point in time it had been a sprawling property with acres of land surrounding a sturdy building. That’s what it looked like in the holo he had been provided, at least. It was falling apart now. An overgrown mess slowly but surely being taken over by the fungus jungle. A quick hand gesture ordered the men to begin a perimeter sweep, then they would go inside for the assignment.

The job itself was a simple one; go to the abandoned property and check for signs of rebel activity. At one time, this had been part of a Clone Wars campaign to find a Separatist leader. She might have even been hiding here, but the Republic had never found her, as more pressing issues had taken over. That was all that was in the report, and all Bly needed to know.

He should have known more, but everything before the Empire was a bit fuzzy. Bly trudged on through the foggy air.

He stopped when he came to a part of the fence that was broken. The damage was as old as everything else, so it wasn’t recent rebel activity trying to break in, but it was worth taking a look at. A rusty, dead-eyed B1 stared up at him in the tangles of the chainlink. It unsettled the clone, but he continued doing his job. There was nothing else to do.

The B1 led to more signs of an old battle with a trail of other scrapped droids and the occasional piece of plastoid armor. Bly noted all of it in his field notes, but not the fact that the armor had mustard yellow paint on it. That didn’t seem important enough to add.

The trail of battle droids soon ran dry. It would be hard to follow more as any footprints would have been washed away years ago. Bly kept walking though, because there was something familiar about this area. Still on the edge of the manor property, he came to a clearing. The fog had even cleared a bit, letting the sun though. It made Bly want to take his bucket off and get a breath of the fresh air he knew smelled clear and slightly vegetal.

There was something in the center of the clearing, a few meters away from the tracks of the AT-TEs that marched through the planet years ago. Bly walked forward to see what it was, dread filling his gut with every step though he didn’t know why…

Something flew past, distracting Bly. The sun glared through his helmet HUD and suddenly there was a figure standing in front of him. As his display adjusted to the light, the figure spoke.

“Bly? What are you doing out here?”

On instinct, he raised his blaster and fired. He must have missed, though, because the woman- the  _ Jedi _ he could now see still stood there with a slightly confused expression. Bly stared and stared, not even attempting to shoot her again.

Because it was her. It was Aayla.

“Nobody calls me that anymore,” was the first thing he told her. SHe only frowned and walked closer to him.

“What do they call you?”

“CC-5052,” he answered numbly.

“What a shame,” she hovered a hand over his pristine new armor but did not touch it. She finally rested her eyes on his helmet. It looked like she wanted to pull it off. If Bly was being honest, so did he. “I loved your name.”

He marched her to the house, because what else was he supposed to do? She was a Jedi and a traitor to the Empire. The usual rule was to kill Jedi on sight- but there were extenuating circumstances. It had been a long time since any had been spotted, and the Empire was looking for leads on rebel intelligence. Keeping Aayla alive would prove to be a better plan. It had to.

The inside of the manor was no cleaner than the outside. Bly led Aayla (though it felt more like she was leading him. The way she walked through the foliage on the way here and how she looked around the manor… this place was familiar to her) to sit on the steps in the entrance. She watched quietly as he unpacked his things and contacted his squad. They were finishing up their search of the grounds and were ready to meet up in the manor when he gave the word. He told them to stand by.

“How many rebels are here?” he asked the traitor.

She stared back at him calmly. “There are no rebels here.”

“Sure, you’re the only one here. Everyone else just happened to leave before we came to search. Tell me where they are, Jedi.”

A frown. “You still haven't said my name. You do remember it, don’t you?”

He ignored the question. She was trying to distract him. “Where are the others?”

“Oh, there are others here. Not any rebels like you think, Commander. Just… lost souls,” she answered airily.

“What are you doing here?” he asked through gritted teeth. Her strange, half-answers were starting to annoy him.

“That is truly a big question,” Aayla said. “To tell you the truth, I do not know myself why exactly I am here- I should say why I am  _ still _ here. I simply am. What is important now is why  _ you _ are here, and what you will do while you are here.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Have you just been going stir-crazy on this damned planet since- since the clone wars?”

Aayla stood up and began pacing. Bly suddenly wondered why she wasn't shivering- it was cold without armor on. He used to always bring her robes back when she got cold at the end of the day, or when he couldn’t find where she had thrown it and instead they would-

No, he shook his head. She was getting into his head. Jedi did that. They could hear your thoughts and control your choices. They had too much power so they had to be destroyed.

Still, Aayla was watching him sadly. “I know this isn’t your fault, Bly. I could feel it in the Force that day.”

“What day?” Bly asked desperately. There was something he was forgetting, if he could just remember this would all make sense. Even if Aayla was a traitor she might be able to tell him.

She laughed. “It seems like I have all the memories for the both of us.”

“Tell me,” he ordered. It sobered her, his tone of voice. Bly felt bad immediately after, even though he shouldn’t feel bad at all. He was trying to get information from the unruly, traitorous, beautiful rebel.

“The last time you were here, you were given orders. You would have refused in a heartbeat but it wasn’t up to you.”

“No,” Bly shook his head. The words made sense; he knew they were right as soon as she had said it, but he didn’t want to remember. He wanted to block it all out like he had easily all these years.

Aayla came closer to him. He took another step back, reaching for his blaster. It did not deter her and soon enough the Jedi was inches from him. Gently, she lifted his helmet off. Bly could tell the second she could see his tattoos because the helmet was tossed aside in favor of holding his cheeks.

Her hands were cold. Bly’s lips shook. “I killed you.”

A nod confirmed what he said. She hugged him next, awkward with the bad-fitting armor but it barely registered. After what felt like an hour Bly was able to pull his arms up and around her. They fit together like puzzle pieces still, despite everything.

“You said you could feel it then. When it started,” Bly whispered. Aayla nodded. “Can… can you still feel it? Now?”  _ Am I still being controlled? _

She held him tighter, still feeling weightless in his arms. “I can’t feel anything anymore. Not the warmth of the sun, not the Force, not even you. I wish I could.”

“I’ll feel it for the both of us,” he assured her. Seeing her had shattered the barrier that held his composure together. How he had done  _ anything _ under the Empire was beyond him. He must have forgotten, or refused to remember. It was much less painful that way, but how could he forget Aayla?

Suddenly, she smiled and pulled back to look at Bly. “Let me show you something. Remember that day on Ryloth?”

He shrugged. With everything coming back to him so suddenly, it was hard to distinguish it all. Aayla didn’t seem to mind and put her hands back onto his face, this time near his temples. 

_ They were bone-tired, sore, bruised, but happy. So, utterly happy. It was a perfect spring night and the fire in the center of the festivities roared taller and brighter than the explosions of the battle that morning. The grateful civilians had brought out the good Ryl Wine. _

_ “Come dance with me, Commander,” Aayla had said. The brothers around him shouted and joked and pushed him forward despite his halfhearted protest. _

_ She led, of course, as she always did in the field. Dancing lessons were not a part of his training, but picking up new skills quickly was. In the end though, it didn't matter if they were the best dancers at the celebrations. He felt free, and he knew Aayla did, too. _

_ “You’re amazing, you know,” Bly had told her as they watched the sunrise. She leaned to rest her head on his shoulder. He considered throwing his pauldron away so she could do that more often. _

_ “I know,” she said wryly. Her gaze moved from the sunrise to him. “So are you. I can’t imagine fighting alongside anyone else. I don’t want to. I just want it to be you and me forever.” _

_ Bly nodded, staring back at his Jedi. “It’s you. It’s me.” _

“It’s us,” he whispered. “How did you do that?”

Aayla shrugged “Does it really matter? I wanted to show you the memory so I did. I’m practically made of them.”

Again, her airy smile faded into a frown. Her moods seemed to change quickly. Bly wondered what she was remembering now. Whatever it was, he felt the need to cheer her up. “Come with me. We can get out of here- out of the Empire. I know a place we can hide on Seelos-”

“I can’t leave, Bly,” she intoned. “Tell me why you are here. Why did you come back?”

“I-It was just an assignment; a mission. I didn’t remember until I got here, until I saw you,” he said quickly. “What do you mean you can’t leave? I can sneak us out just like that time on Malastare.”

Aayla sat back down on the steps, looking up towards the second story. “I lied earlier. When I said I did not know why I am here.”

She paused, and Bly waited for her to explain the rest. She was eerily statuesque, though the pose was not heroic at all. She was small and folded in on herself like a youngling instead of the fierce warrior Bly knew her to be.

“In the attic, there is an artifact. Some relic of the Force that holds onto lost souls. When I died,” Bly flinched at that but still listened intently. “My memories were held here. That’s all I am: memories. Maybe that’s why I still have this.”

She smoothly clipped her lightsaber from her hip. The polished metal was just as Bly remembered it. She studied it while Bly slowly sat down next to her.

“The last time I saw your lightsaber I was handing it over to be demolished,” he admitted. Aayla frowned again. “I know, I’m sorry. But, I think that’s when it hit me for the first time what I had done. I couldn’t feel anything anymore- grief, fear, anything- but I knew I had done it.”

Bly wanted to be trapped here with Aayla forever. But then she would be here forever with the man who killed her. She was miserable and lost here. Bly stood up, pulling Aayla’s attention away from the ‘saber. “I can’t change the past, but I would do anything for you, Aayla. What do you need me to do?”

She silently led him to the attic. It was a bit of a journey as the rotting floorboards gave out in some places and cobwebs stuck to everything. Inside the attic was dark, but Aayla lit the room up with her lightsaber as she had so many times before.

The little stone rune was nothing special; sitting in the far corner but still in plain sight. Bly picked it up reverently and Aayla shivered. It was old and already crumbling. When Bly moved too fast and a piece came off, Aayla fell to the floor with a gasp.

He knelt down next to her, trying to soothe her by rubbing her back but his hand felt blistered wounds instead. There were dozens of blaster wounds that hadn’t been there before.

“Aayla, I’m so sorry, I’ll stop-”

“No,” she shuddered. Her eyes were wide, and she somehow looked more alive. “I need to be with the others. I miss them so much.”

Bly knew the feeling. There were so few of his brothers left now, and he desperately wanted to see them again. Aayla wanted to see her family again, and Bly would not stop her.

“Alright,” he picked up the relic again. “Before you go… I want to tell you because I never got the chance to say it when you were alive-”

“Just say it, Bly,” she laughed. Even fading away now, she smiled at Bly like he was the sun.

“I loved you.”

Aayla lifted herself from the ground and kissed him. It was cold, like her hands were, but perfect all the same. Together they held the crumbling stone and crushed it.

The dust caked Bly’s hands and Aayla was gone. Only her memory remained.


End file.
